


A Line Runs Through It

by frostings



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:12:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3062216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostings/pseuds/frostings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Female Mage’s relationship with Cullen through her eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Line Runs Through It

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting an old fanfic from 2010 because why not. I’m waiting for my AO3 invite so I can archive all of this properly in one place. ALSO : This is officially an AU now! Since you can’t swim in Lake Calenhad apparentlyyyyy but I can’t be arsed to change it.

The first thing you learn in the early days in the Circle is the Line, and which side of the Line you belong in. The concept is easy enough at first—one side is for the Mages (such as yourself) and the other is for the Templars. That means you do not go to areas that are for the Templars. You do not go to their classrooms, their prayer rooms, their training halls, their dining areas or even their lavatories. Even certain stairwells are forbidden to you. It becomes a game of sorts for the apprentices, venturing to take a peek into the other side, the unknown part of your home. Once, you take up a dare and sneak into a Templars’ empty classroom and are mightily disappointed when you find out that it looks exactly like the Mages’ classroom. Of course you got caught and got a harsh reprimand from one of the Senior Enchanters.  
  
They do not tell you what the Templars are for, at least, not yet. Very young apprentices are told that they are there to protect you, but no one really believes that. Templars look at you like you’ve already committed some grave sin already, or you’re just about to. Whether an apprentice is young or old, naughty or obedient, you feel that the Templars look at you the same way from the façade of their cold steel helms: With a certain amount of loathing. 

Templars become the strangers that you know very well. They pray at certain times of the day, their uniform chants echoing down the corridors you’re not allowed to walk in. They are not interested in talking to you, only looking. They become daily fixtures of your life—standing over the dining areas, guarding the hallways, standing near the classroom doors, checking the Mages’ bedrooms before lights out, and even looking over small holidays and celebrations without partaking in any of it. You get used to it, you have to. There are things to learn, better things to do than to provoke the Templars, which your instructors have repeatedly warned you NEVER to do. So you never stop and stare right back at them, only hurry along when you get near one.   
  
Life in the Circle is not always a punishment. There’s brotherhood and camaraderie between you and your peers. No child will want to stay on, otherwise. Your favorite days are Lake Days, when it’s your turn to go swimming in the lake. First Enchanter Irving is a big fan of physical exertion and exercise, but the small freedom always comes with an endless number of rules. You don’t mind following them. For you it’s a small price to pay to take a dip in the lake waters, be under the endless sky, watch the setting sun, laugh along with the others, tease your teachers a bit to see them break into a small smile, play endless pranks on Jowan and be teased in return.   
  
And then there are the Templars, always watching. You feel a little sorry for them in their heavy armor while you run around in your bathing clothes, but you’re quick to forget about them. Lake Days are when you feel young and free and sometimes, just like an ordinary girl. Jowan once wonders out loud if the Templars resent the Mages for having much more freedom in the Tower than them. You tell him that you don’t have more freedom, just a differently-designed cage. Jowan thinks about it, and agrees.   
  
Then one day you find out about the fate of Mages who run free of their cages. An older apprentice, tiring of the long days to the Harrowing, takes matters into his own hands and goes into the Fade on his own. What for, you’re not sure. Proving yourself seems to be all you are t rained to do in the Circle. Proving yourself that you’re not a threat, proving yourself not to be good enough not to be a Tranquil, proving yourself to be worthy to keep on living. You like the older apprentice—Glynn—he’s been a brother to you and has been kind to you, and you know only too well the frustration he felt. In the end, though, you lose Glynn to a demon. The line is drawn deeper in the Circle, and it’s drawn by Mage blood and the Templar’s sword.   
  
The day Glynn is killed—executed—is Lake Day. None of your friends go out to swim that day, but you ask to be permitted to, anyway. You’d rather be outside than cooped up with your misery over Glynn’s death. You are assigned one Templar and one Instructor to watch over you.   
  
The Instructor is silent that day, and you know he’s thinking about Glynn too. You strip down to your bathing clothes with a little ferocity—your clothes have become a little tighter due to inconvenient “developments” in your body—and take a dive into the lake.   
  
The water is chilly, and you wish its cold would seep into your heart and protect you from pain. You wish you can hate the Templars, you wish you can hate the Circle, but you cannot find it in you. How can you hate the only things you’ve ever known? What you’ve been denying for so long—that life as a Mage is poison and prison—has now barged into your heart and now refuses to leave. You close your eyes, hold your breath, and count. You wish you could stay in this forgiving, welcoming darkness of the waters forever.   
  
You try.   
  
Until a hand plunges deep into the water and drags you out, coughing, back into the shore. You open your eyes, blurry with lake water, expecting to see the Instructor and instead seeing the Templar, stripped of his armor and peering into your face.   
  
“What do you think were you doing? You—you could’ve drowned out t-there!” you are startled by the concern in the Templar’s voice—in fact shocked to hear his voice at all—and look around wildly to look for your Instructor. Fear and pure panic rises in your veins. He will kill you. You just know it.   
  
“Your Instructor’s been called inside and asked me to look after you,” the Templar says wryly, as if sensing your thoughts, your fear. “Don’t worry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I won’t—I won’t kill you.”  
  
 _You could’ve just let me drown and made your job easier_ , you spit out angrily before you can stop yourself. Something like hurt (Hurt? A TEMPLAR, hurt?) flashes in his eyes as he helps you up. You spy his hastily-discarded armor behind him. He is sopping wet just likes you, and looks very unhappy. He is still holding onto your arm.   
  
You stand there staring at him, and suddenly he goes,” I’m—I’m sorry about your friend.”   
  
The apology takes you by surprise, and then something else happens, and it’s totally unexpected.   
  
You begin to cry; big, childish sobs that rip themselves out of your chest, beyond your control. You have never cried since you entered the Tower. Jowan has tried to make you cry, many times before but he’s never succeeded. You have never cried since perhaps, you were a baby.   
  
And you are crying now. In front of a Templar, who may very well just drown you again for as much as looking at them wrong. You hate yourself, but you can’t seem to stop.   
  
The Templar looks on in horror, not knowing what to do. He is a bit older than you, but not old nor hardened up enough to scold you for crying like a baby. Instead, he reaches out stiffly, hand outstretched, and awkwardly bops your shoulder. He bops it again. He seems surprised that his bopping isn’t helping. You cry some more.   
  
Finally, he says: “Please…p-please don’t cry.”  
  
There’s something in his voice that is genuinely alarmed and kind that you do stop. You stare at your feet, try to regain some composure. You look at him, and you register his face for the first time. Strawberry blonde hair. Kind eyes. No helmet in between.   
  
 _I’m sorry too_ , you say. Then, after a beat:  _Thank you_.   
  
Suddenly you feel awkward and a fresh wave of misery passes through you. You turn abruptly away from the Templar, with nothing else to say. You should hate the Templars, you should. Everyone else does. Jowan does. They’re all the same—just waiting for a chance to kill you. But you find yourself turning back to him, telling him your name, much to the shock of you both.   
  
Then, he finally says, “My name is Cullen.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he adds: “Wait, I have to put my armor on.” He seems to have forgotten that he’s not in his uniform as usual, and that he’s sopping wet and it will rust his armor.   
  
It’s awkward getting dressed in front of each other, but there are no nearby trees and the night is coming. For some strange reason you remember the awkwardness you felt when you experimented on kissing with Jowan. The memory makes you laugh a bit, and then embarrassed all over again, and the combination of feelings make you feel a little more like yourself again.   
  
“Ready?” Cullen is walking up to you. You expect him to say something more, but he doesn’t. You wonder if he is already regretting even talking to you in the first place. You wonder why you are even thinking it; of course he is already regretting it. So you simply nod, and you walk back to the Tower.   
  
A few months pass, and the Circle has more or less resumed to its normal state. You have just finished an exam early, and you are wandering around. Settling on reading a book by the window, you’re distracted by the sounds coming from outside. You take a peek out, and much to your surprise, you see a group of younger Templars swimming at the lake. They aren’t very loud, and most of the sounds are splashes, but you can see them smiling, relaxed. You spot Cullen. You have gotten a knack of spotting him around.   
  
“Mmmhmm, spying on Templars now are we?” Jowan’s low murmur makes you startle, dropping your book. He laughs. “Thanks for letting me copy off you. I needed an early break.” He makes an exaggerated yawn, drops next to you.   
  
 _Go away, Jowan_ , you say.   
  
Jowan stares at you for a bit, then chuckles. “I always thought you were weird not liking anyone. But a Templar…!” He says. “You’ve been mooning over him, still?”   
  
 _I am NOT mooning_. They probably thought we were still having our exams, you retort, fighting the blush rising up to your ears. You don’t like the Templar, not really, but he is nice to you. You always respond to kindness, especially now, because suddenly everyone is growing up around you and looking out for themselves.   
  
“Well, well,” Jowan shrugs. “It is interesting to see them like that, isn’t it? Like watching dogs walk upright.”   
  
 _I thought that was your specialty, Jowan_.   
  
“Oooh someone’s prickly!” Jowan is laughing. He’s caught you, and he knows it, and he’s going to toy with you. To your surprise, though, he doesn’t. He drops the joking suddenly and looks closely at you. “You do know that liking a Templar is, oh, I don’t know, stupid and insane?”   
  
There are Lines, and they’ve been drawn for a reason. You know that.   
  
Templars kill Mages. That’s what they are for. That’s why they pray a lot, because their lives are shaped by who they kill. That’s what the other apprentices have always been darkly saying, at least.   
  
You are stupid and insane, but you don’t do anything, well, overtly stupid and insane. Every now and then you run into Cullen in the tower. You only smile, say hello sometimes and when you’re really feeling bold, you ask him about the weather. Cullen almost always responds, stuttering a hello back, a shy smile, happy to report that it’s sunny outside. When there are other people, though, Cullen never even looks at you. Jowan always rolls his eyes at this (but tells no one, and you are grateful), and you wonder why you aren’t caught nor reprimanded. But it is sweet and fleeting and  _ **yours**_ and you keep all these moments close to your heart. You tell yourself that there’s nothing wrong with what you do.   
  
Until before your Harrowing and you see Cullen is your assigned Just-In-Case-Executioner. Then it’s clear that the Circle has known, has always known. This is as much his test as yours, and you’re relieved you have both passed. The Line has never really gone away.   
  
Years pass. Things happen. You leave your old life behind and you didn’t even say goodbye.   
  
Outside the Circle, you discover that there are many more Lines. Lines you sometimes cross, Lines you bar away forever. And then there are the Lines of your own, and they’re harder to define. You leave pieces of your heart behind around the kingdom (one on the throne, one in Aeonar, one dying in the Tower), like burden you don’t want to carry anymore, and you keep on moving on your own.   
  
You hear of the Templar’s breakdown and madness, and his slaughter of innocent Apprentices. Other Templars want to go after him, but you stumble on him on your own, quite by accident.   
  
It’s in a remote lake in the forest, and there is Cullen, standing beside it. Like he has been waiting for you. You look at him and know that he’s far gone, too far gone to be a threat to anyone but himself. He speaks:   
  
“Are you a trick?” his voice sounds weary. He’s asked this before. Too many times.   
  
You shake your head, no.   
  
“This lake…looks like the other.” His voice breaks, and you remember. He looks back at you. “Is it Lake Day today?”   
  
 _Yes, yes it is_ , you find yourself saying.   
  
He nods, as if satisfied. He’s forgotten, like a demon couldn’t have remembered nor understood Lake Days, because he’s buried it too deep. Out of shame or out of wanting to remember, you don’t know. “It’s been a while. Are you going to swim, then?”   
  
He takes a step into the lake, still in full armor. “I’m just remembering it now,” he’s saying, trancelike. “You were the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, and I didn’t have anyone to ask who you were.”   
  
You take his hand, step further in the lake with him. The water rushes towards you, and you feel him fading, fast. The cold seeps through your clothes, in your skin. Templars had Lake Days, too, and you had seen him laugh.  
  
“Where did you go? I missed you and I was lonely.” His armor is rusted and heavy, so heavy… “But I prayed to the Maker to take you away from me, far far away from me. The Maker did, but…” he grasps his head in confusion. The long years of frustration, fear, rage, of conflicting desires, all etched on his once-young face.   
  
The water rises up to your chest, and you turn to him. I’m sorry, Cullen.   
  
You draw him near, tenderly close, and kiss him. He kisses you back with all the strength he has left in him. For a moment you see it—his wishes. The warm fire, his light touch, the smiling children…and your heart aches.  
  
Then suddenly both of you are submerged in water, looking at each other. Cullen then closes his eyes as if in a deep sleep, releases you and sinks, sinks, sinks. You watch him until you can see him no more. He has crossed the final Line, and it is over.   
  
When you clamber out of the lake, shivering and cold, you are met with several Templars, all who regard you silently. Somehow, they know. You do not feel like the hero of Ferelden, not at all. You are tired and cold and guilty, and you fear them no longer.   
  
“It is over, then?” one of the Templars ask. You nod. The Templar who spoke regards the lake behind you and says, finally, “It’s a peaceful death. Thank you, Warden.” You don’t know what it means, so you don’t ask, merely nod again. This is probably the only time a Templar will ever thank you for leading one of them to their death.   
  
The Templars leave.   
  
You don’t stay long, take no last lingering looks. You simply drop a piece of your heart in the lake, draw another Line.   
  
You move on, like you always do.


End file.
